#So you know people are paying for it and it IS whatever but it sucks LMAO.

[oyorama]

I've got a take on this, but you are definitely going to have to hear me out before you blast a hole through the table with your knee.

I use AI sometimes. I do not use it for any of my creative endeavors -- I make music, and I write poetry, and that shit will NEVER fucking touch any creational aspect of my art. I see fugue visions like the rest of em; I let the ghost of vice and agony haunt my body and channel its wretched energies into my stuff like the best of em.

No, instead, the reason I've had to use it is because of... well, mismanagement, I suppose.

Currently, I'm doing a course at a university for my degree, and I've had to switch to a long-distance institution for Reasons. My course is Advanced Programming (final year undergrad), and I'll keep it a buck with you: this institution is DOGSHIT in terms of offering any help or support. It's basically self-study, and the only people I ACTUALLY got help from were a Polish gent on discord (I love you bobini, I promise I haven't forgotten about learning how to turn my music into something BMS can read) and a relative, who is almost always busy doing cybersec stuff et al..

So when said relative recommended I try using AI to help me understand concepts and fill in gaps that documentation and stackexchange discussions weren't quite reaching, I tried to give it a shot.

And I'm happy to say that I STILL have to wrangle something readable out of whatever it spits out. But for once, it's actually close enough to what I'm looking for to get me to actually UNDERSTAND what I need to do. Because fuck knows I've spent two undergrads' worth of time trying to understand this shit to no avail.

I must reiterate: AI can stay the fuck out of generating creative ideas and whatnot. I've seen plenty of Suno slop on YouTube when I'm diving for new music, and as someone who actually LIKES making music, that shit is super disheartening to see.

I have used it because I am not getting any form of consistent or useful help from an institution I fucking pay to do so.

In summary: AI sucks. It has some use in my context, and in music I can MAYBE see it being used as a tool to replicate stuff like guitar tones or instruments in the case that the user does not have access to said instruments and a plugin may not exist, but FUCK people who use it in place of creativity. If I wanted AI to be creative, I'd give it a soul and they could make whatever their digital heart desired.

i literally dont care what your excuse for using AI is. if you didnt put your own effort into making it im not putting my own effort into interacting with it.

[iero]

Full offense, but I think milk substitution charges should not exist at coffee shops. It is NOT my or anyone's fault that they cannot have dairy and that's that.

[medicinemane]

There's honestly... just so many people, just so so so so so many people in this world where I'm like... aren't you people tired of this fucking... you know, I was going to call them clowns but that's really disrespectful to clowns, these people could never get their face on an egg...

Anyway, aren't you tired of this childish jackass? Don't you just want to ignore them and never have to hear about them again? If we just ignored them they legitimately would go away... don't you want that?

And this applies to... just ungodly amounts of people, from jake paul to even elon musk (just... don't touch his shit, he'll run out of money eventually with how bad he is with it), to just... name an annoying famous person and you'll name someone I've literally forgotten right now that I could never have to hear about again if people would just ignore them (unless they committed crimes, investigators are welcome to pay attention while gathering a case)

Yet the answer's always "no, we're paying so much attention to them!" and I'm just like... why? Why would you watch jake paul box? I heard about that and was like "he's still doing that shit?", and yet I guess it made a lot of money yet again and it's just like... ignore him

These people could go away, and yet

[sophiethewitch1]

in my hater era

[sonknuxadow]

okay sorry for having opinions on sonic shipping but . the more popular a ship is the more likely i am to be annoyed by it so its probably for the best that my favorite ship is one of the not as popular ones . but also the way sonknux gets talked about (or not talked about) as a result of it being less popular drives me up the wall . what do you mean it doesnt make sense. hes literally not staring at the moon and thinking about him💔

[ranger-danger]

Dnd people who hate rangers are so funny. Oh you love bards, but think rangers are useless in combat? That’s rich. Next you’ll tell me you love monks, but think rangers are too weak. What do you love sorcerers and think rangers suck?

[none-tadashi-left-hiro]

hi what is wrong with me

[sunspinecity]

i havent wanted to comment on the sandsurge drama bc i think it's insane but like. anyone who says that staff "isn't very communicative" has never played another petsite in their life. Turn back time spend 3 years on neopets and then we'll talk about communication bro..

like there is literally an entire Dev Status Sidebar that shows you what they're saying about whats going on that they update pretty regularly and they do dev updates + stay in contact with their playerbase and closely watch their reactions to updates to see where they messed up and what can be improved on. Like what on planet earth are you talking about. genuinely

the only agreement i will give to communication issue is that the wording on aeq's post regarding the fact that it would be a gem breed took me 7 tries and i still dont get it bc it reads to me as "2nd breed will be treasure, 3rd will be gems"?? which is obv not true. I genuinely can't see what ppl mean by this being a confirmation. but thats not a communication issue it is a Confusing Wording issue. don't complain about communication unless you've played literally any other petsite bc i guarantee you this level of transparency and care you will find in very few other places.

[riggedbones]

the thing about the inheritors from comics spiderverse is that i don’t care and also they will kill a guy two seconds after they’re introduced and like rip that idea for a spider person i guess

[alecscudder1987]

well i saw it and i am just. tired. i'm gonna try not to worry about it until i see the show for context. it sucks it got spoiled, especially so soon to the release date. but idk! maybe now we can chill out about this specific thing and it doesn't have to be an insane huge deal like shit like this always is?

[cozwalt]

Something I didn’t actually realize until I was making Hita’s bracers in October (and probably is why they’re my first hot-glue fueled project that stuck together) is that apparently for really sturdy hot glue’s, like gorilla brand stuff, there is actually certain heat settings you’re supposed to administer for it to stick correctly to different substances. Like fabric and foam required low heat only.

And it was the first time I’d made armor with hot glue and had it actually bond, I’d say almost permanently. I could rip it apart if I was really fucking trying, but it’s impossible to get apart unless you’re trying on purpose to break them.

[theood]

Oh cool people being really mean about a thing I do 🤪 that's fine j can drop that entire chunk of my personality it's fine I needed a new one anyway so I'm more likeable 👍👍👍

[femonologue]

Many years ago, I was wandering around downtown Ottawa with my best friend. We ran into a friend of his who offered us some hash (it sucked), then said there was a really good house party nearby if we wanted to go. We were like, yeah, sure. So that's how we ended up at some completely fucking random person's house.

I look around to ask if my friend knows anyone here and he's simply gone, as is his friend. And this isn't some red solo cup hangout; this is a party. There's people counting out pills on the kitchen counter. I am clearly neither as cool nor as drug-savvy as the kitchen people, so I back away and instead wander aimlessly into the living room, which seems to give off more of a chill vibe.

A bunch of people are seated in a circle on the floor. One of them is fiddling with a big wad of newspaper or something. A really cute grunge girl with piercings and tattoos scoots aside to make room for me, so I sit down.

"What's that," I ask her, gesturing at the newspaper wad.

She gets a really big smile on her face. You know the smile. It's the I'm About To Watch This Innocent Soul Get High As Fuck smile. "You've never smoked a tulip?"

"What's a tulip?" I ask.

"It's like if a joint was also a bong," she replies. "You gotta try it."

"Alright," I reply, a little uncertainly. This will not be my first encounter with weed. I am more comfortable with the janky newspaper bong than I am with whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. Besides, this girl is really cute and I would like to have a friend here now that my existing friend has turned into vapor or been transported to the Upside-Down or whatever the hell happened to him.

I watch as one person holds the newspaper joint-bong upright and holds a lighter over the top while another gets beneath it, tilting their head back to take a puff. Apparently smoking this Cheech & Chong monstrosity is a two-person job.

"Oh," I say, looking at the fist-sized knob at the top of the wonky newspaper joint. "Yeah, it does kinda look like a tulip." Grunge girl smiles at me.

I watch as the tulip is passed around the circle, along with the lighter, and hits are cooperatively taken. It reaches grunge girl, who takes a huge puff and holds it for an extended moment before exhaling an impressive blast of smoke. She smiles expectantly and holds the tulip up for me, preparing to spark the gigantic meteor of dank that makes up its tip. By this point I have completely forgotten about my missing friend. I only care about making a good impression on grunge girl. I tilt my head back and hit the tulip like a smokestack.

It is the following morning. I am sleeping between a couch and a wall. I'm not positive that this is the same house I was just in. My memories are gone. Someone is yelling at me: "dude! Dude! Wake up, dude!"

I sit up. My mouth tastes like cigarettes. I do not smoke cigarettes. "Wha," I ask the yelling man, who I am quite confident I have never met before in my life.

"We're going on a quest," he tells me, gravely. "You have to come with us."

I look around. Neither my friend nor his friend are anywhere in sight. I also do not see grunge girl anywhere. I shrug helplessly. "Okay."

We embark from this house. I learn that the destination of this quest is Tim Horton's. This is a relief to me, as coffee and a donut sounds really fucking good right now. Somehow, the route to Tim Horton's takes us past the Governor-General's residence, which everyone else in the group loudly heckles on the way past. I do not know what the Governor-General has done to raise their ire, nor do I particularly care. I trudge along with my hands in my pockets, pleased to note that I still have my wallet, phone, and keys. I fervently wish that I could remember anything about last night. Maybe I talked to grunge girl. Maybe she's why my mouth tastes like cigarettes. The tulip tasted nothing like cigarettes.

I am asked about my politics. I voice my frustrations with corporate corruption, the pay-to-win electoral system, the lack of transparency and accountability. This is met with great approval. The guy who was yelling at me claps me on the back. I get the impression that we became friends last night. I don't recognize his face. I do not know his name and he definitely does not know mine. I behave as though we're friends anyway. We are comrades on a quest.

By the time we make it to Tim Hortons, the gaggle of stoners I'm walking with have all run out of energy and/or attention span. People order snacks and break away in pairs or solo, to call for rides or plan the day's events or just vegetate and wait for the drugs to leave their systems. I look around and find that my nameless friend has also gone to the Upside-Down. As I wash the cigarette taste out of my mouth with coffee, I unsuccessfully try to remember whether I saw grunge girl smoking tobacco at any point. I remember nothing. That tulip was so fucking powerful that it instantly sent me a whole day forward in time.

Alone in the city, I try to call my best friend and get no answer. I walk to the nearest bus stop, catch a bus most of the way home, and call up my parents to ask for a ride back. They ask where my friend is. I tell them that I have no idea; we went to a house party and I don't remember anything else.

When they pick me up from the bus station, they ask me some very safe, nonspecific questions, and seem to relax when I describe what little I can remember. It isn't until years later that I realize they were probably terrified I'd gotten rufied or something, and were so relieved to learn otherwise that they didn't even bother chiding me for smoking myself unconscious in an effort to impress a strange woman. In any case, they were probably happy to find out that I did, in fact, like girls; I suspect they had been privately wondering whether I was gay.

After getting home, I finally manage to get my best friend to answer his phone. I discover that he tried the kitchen pills, spent most of the night crossing the entire city on foot, and crashed at his cousin's house. He sounds like shit. I tell him that he should have tried the tulip, instead. He fervently agrees with me.

I never see grunge girl again.

That's okay, though. She got to see a clueless stranger get fucked the entire way up on some ungodly strain of giga-weed, and I got smiled at by a cute girl, and then I got to go on a quest. Wherever grunge girl is, I hope she's happy. I hope she's smoking the fattest fucking blunt and smiling as some kid passes out behind a couch.

[incorrectbatfam]

What does Tim say when people ask about his spleen?

Damian: I am updating my blackmail records. Tell me what happened to your spleen in its full hilarity.

Tim: I donated it to a sickly orphan.

Damian: You win this round.

———————

Tim: I have to be careful, I lost my spleen.

Carrie: How?

Tim: Aliens.

———————

Tim: I'm zero percent spleen and fifty-nine percent pizza sauce.

Helena: Zero percent spleen?

Tim: Yep. On the bright side, they named a disease after me.

———————

Luke: I've designed nanotech vitals trackers to be implanted on our spleens.

Tim: Oh, no thanks. I don't have one.

Luke: You don't have a spleen?

Tim: It wasn't paying rent so I evicted it. Lazy freeloader.

———————

Barbara: Why does your chart say you're missing a spleen?

Tim: I made a deal with the devil but I had a discount code so instead of my soul I just needed to sell a non-essential organ.

———————

Steph: What happened to your spleen? Are you okay?

Tim: I'm fine. It's taking an extended gap year.

———————

Harper: So... can I ask about your spleen?

Tim: Yeah, don't worry. I was part of a failed science experiment.

Cullen: What'd they do?

Tim: They injected me with a serum that was supposed to make me indestructible. But instead all I got were a spleen removal and chronic insomnia. And a free T-shirt.

Cullen:

Harper:

Cullen: Was it a nice shirt?

———————

Dick: What do you mean you don't have a spleen?!?

Tim: It was confiscated by airport security.

———————

Tim: Happy Pride! My spleen finally came out of the closet. And by closet I mean my body.

Kate: Diversity win.

———————

Tim and Jason: *arguing*

Jason: At least I still have my spleen!

Tim: It's genetic!

Jason: Sucks to be you.

Tim: We have the same dad. It could happen to you too.

Jason, scoffing: Whatever.

Jason, internally: Oh shit, he's right. I need to see Leslie.

———————

Tim and Bette: *sparring*

Bette: *hits Tim*

Tim: Ow. Time out. That was my spleenhole.

Bette: ...How?

Tim: It took a trip to the Titanic in a soup can with a Playstation controller.

———————

Duke: Since when did you have that scar?

Tim: Since losing my spleen last year.

Duke: How do you lose a spleen?

Tim: You forget to cherish it.

———————

Cass: ?

Tim: I digested it.

———————

Selina: You know I have to tell Bruce about this.

Tim: Okay, fine.

Tim: I had to get it removed as a kid after falling into a well of bats.

———————

Bruce: Tell me what happened to your spleen so Alfred and Leslie can give you the proper treatment.

Tim: What do you mean?

Bruce: Everyone's been telling me you don't have it.

Tim: Well, I do, so...

Bruce: Alright, I'll have a talk with them about bad taste pranks.

———————

Alfred: You can't keep the truth from me, Master Tim.

Tim: Assassins stole it.

Alfred: I wasn't born yesterday. Now what really happened?

Tim: ...

[wordstome]

how c.ai works and why it's unethical

Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.

The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)

I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.

How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].

I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.

"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."

Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.

(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)

Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:

It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.

C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.

Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.

DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.

(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)

[chikaras-garden]

Batboys as your sugar daddy

What’s the point of all this money if you don’t have someone to spend it on?

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake x fem!reader

Contains: Sugar daddies. Possessive, controlling men. Power imbalances. They’re all a little toxic. These relationships are not aspirational babes. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Dick’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked.

BRUCE WAYNE 💋

“Wear the diamonds,” Bruce rumbles from behind you, lips right next to the shell of your ear. Before you can answer, his warm hands are already on your throat, and cool platinum touches your skin. A hundred diamonds arranged in three dainty layers sparkle in the low light of Bruce’s bedroom, clinging tightly to your neck.

With the choker clasped in place, one of Bruce’s hands traces up and down your neck while the other rests heavily on your hip, holding you flush against his chest. His touch is hypnotic, pulling you in like a planet pulls a moon into orbit. Your whole world revolves around him—and that’s exactly how he likes it.

But like the moon, the subtle gravitational pull you have on him keeps him in place, keeps him stable, calms his most wicked of storms.

He bows his head. The way he looks at you through his eyelashes is almost reverent while he kisses your bare shoulder, skin interrupted only by your dress’s hair-thin silk strap.

“Beautiful,” he says, and you know he’s not talking about the necklace, the dress, or any of the other jewels and silks he’s drowned you in over the last year.

When your eyes meet in the mirror, one corner of his lips quirks up into a smirk, which he buries under a kiss to your jaw. 

There, with a quick, sharp nip of his teeth, he lays his claim. “And all mine.”

DICK GRAYSON 💋

Dick’s on his knees, head buried between your legs when you hear—feel—him say, “I need you to take a week off work.”

Well. What he really needs is for you to just quit your job already, but you got upset the last time he suggested it. Baby steps. For now.

“Why?” you gasp, blinking hard as you try to focus on the fact that he’s starting a conversation now when his tongue is making you smart and shake with pleasure.

“I want to go to the Maldives,” he says as if it’s the most inconsequential thing in the world, as if he’s saying he wants to go across town, not across the world.

His tongue flattens out and dips into your weeping hole, and your thighs tighten around his head in response. He groans, and you choke out, “A week for the Maldives?”

You feel his lips twist and curve around you, paired with a little graze of teeth; he’s smiling, and the sensation makes you dizzy. There it is, he wants to say. You want more. Finally, your expectations are starting to match his bank account.

But he decides to play the dumb, pretty boyfriend he likes to make people think he is. “You don’t think it’s enough time? Wanna take two weeks?”

“I don’t have the—” He kisses up to your clit and gives it a tentative little suck, which makes you fist his hair. “—vacation days.”

“Why don’t you just take them without pay?” he proposes as his tongue laves up your swollen sex. “It’ll be okay, just this once. You’ll feel so much better after some time off; I promise.”

JASON TODD 💋

Jason is currently scrutinizing the contents of your pantry, a box of macaroni and cheese in his hand. After seeing the scowl on his face, you’re not surprised when he starts to lecture you. “You eat this crap?”

You raise a brow because he’s one to judge. “I’ve seen you eat an entire party box of tacos.”

“I’m not you,” he fires back. His voice is still low, still calm, but you can sense an edge in his tone; this conversation is about a lot more than boxed macaroni and cheese.

In the beat of silence that follows, his heated gaze dulls to a smolder. “You don’t know how precious you are.”

You open your mouth to reply, but whatever retort you were going to argue back with is silenced when Jason’s big hands cup your face, tilting your head up so he can kiss your forehead. He lingers there, and you feel him tremble. His breath is ragged, rough—as if he’s afraid.

“I’m not you,” he repeats in a whisper. It’s like he’s talking to a child, like he knows you don’t know any better. Poor little you—you need him. “Just let me take care of you like always, okay? How about I sign you up for one of those meal prep kits? No more processed food; it’s not good for you.”

When he pulls you against his chest and strokes your hair, you feel yourself nod, unable to disagree. You know he’s right, after all; and isn’t it sweet that he treats you like a delicate angel even though he’s seen the worst of the world? That nothing without his stamp of approval is good enough for you?

TIM DRAKE 💋

“Oh, you’re all set,” your manicurist smiles at you as soon as you take out your wallet, nails freshly done. 

Caught off guard, all you can reply with is, “Huh?”

She just smiles a little brighter, and there’s a sparkle of something in her eyes. It looks a little wistful, but also a little vapid—is that jealousy? “Your boyfriend paid already,” she explains as her eyes not-so-subtly look around, trying to catch a glimpse of said boyfriend, but you’re just as surprised as she is.

“For the next year,” she adds in a dry tone. Slowly, you drop your wallet back into your purse. There’s only one man alive who could figure out where you get your nails done, what day and time you like your appointments, and call ahead to pay off your manicures for the next year without you ever finding out about it.

So when you get back to your car, you call him.

“Do anything fun today?” he asks over the phone, pretending to be way more innocent than he actually is.

“Tim—”

“Actually,” he cuts in, and you hear a bashful tremor in his voice. That tremor makes your stomach do flips, which beckons you to give in to whatever he wants. “I was just thinking about you. You’ve got the prettiest hands.”

“Tim—”

“Let’s go shopping later,” he rambles on, completely ignoring you. “I think you need some new jewelry. You’d like a new set of rings, wouldn’t you?”

🔖: @mrs-kurooo; @lovely-loren05